Sedition
by RhyannD
Summary: Follows Insurrection. Separate shore leaves gone wrong ultimately go right, together.  P/C   Paramount owns them, I fix 'em.  T more for ideas than actual content.  For StarFleetCmdr42
1. Chapter 1

The dark of space beckoned beyond the pinpricks of silvery light. Jean-Luc Picard stood lost in the vista stretching beyond his viewport. His days of leave on Ba'ku had been neither delightful as anticipated, nor as disastrous as could have been. Upon his return to the planet, he had found a discontent with his infatuation.

He had been infatuated with the _idea_ of things, rather than the reality. With no threat to the population and planet, he became impatient with even the pace of speech, much to his dismay.

Anij had proven a wonderful host, creating a restful, rejuvenating environment. His sleep was deeper and more restful than he could remember it being. By the fourth day, his discontent began to niggle at the periphery of his consciousness. By the seventh, he had left to return to the Enterprise.

He had needed the time, to be sure. The time it took to travel to and from the Briar Patch, and the seemingly endless week on Ba'ku. The disillusionment and betrayal of StarFleet still stung. He had sacrificed his life for them, both literally and figuratively… and yet he was no longer sure he could trust his orders, nor believe in the evolving 'ideals' StarFleet professed.

Only his First Officer knew so far of his return to the ship. He was not returning to duty just yet. There was too much to weigh. He had been wounded too many times to count for principles he thought he believed in. He had surrendered any semblance of a personal life as many times.

His thoughts strayed to the one that had betrayed him on Ba'ku; the name which had made Anij tell him to leave, with a gentle, sad smile…

"Computer, location of Doctor Crusher?"

"Doctor Crusher is not aboard the Enterprise." The familiar, unemotional tone of the computer startled him out of his melancholy. He quickly logged on to his computer, bypassing the lists of messages waiting, skipping to the Ship's Orders.

There. Approved by Will: a month of leave, and the use of a runabout. She had left three days ago. A sharp disappointment stabbed his gut. It was tinged with something which felt like guilt, though he spared no time to decipher what he should feel guilty about.

He glanced at the chronometer. "Picard to Riker."

The sharpness in the voice on the communicator startled the First Officer. "Sir, go ahead."

"Will, can you speak privately?" The Captain's use of his first name further piqued the First Officer.

"Yes, Sir. I'm in the Ready Room." Will waited, wondering what could be urgent less than an hour after the Captain's arrival back shipboard.

"Can you tell me where Doctor Crusher is?" The Captain's voice was quiet but intense. The First Officer raised an eyebrow in concert with one corner of a smile. He raised a hand to rub his beard, finding smooth skin. Maybe the Captain was finally coming to his senses, much the way he recently had.

"As a matter of fact, she was looking for a nice resort to just spend some downtime at. We were too far out from Risa, so I recommended she try Navaal IV. The warm tidal coasts are spectacularly restful. I pulled a few strings and got her a suite on short notice." Will knew it was more than work the Doctor had been fleeing, but he kept those thoughts to himself. The doors to the Ready Room opened to admit Counselor Deanna Trio. Will motioned his finger over his lips in the universal sign for 'quiet.' "Is there a problem, Sir? She had almost a year's leave accumulated."

Deanna perched on the edge of the chair in front of the desk, her expressive eyebrows raised as she gazed at the First Officer.

"No. No problem, Will." A long pause, then, "I think warm tidal coasts sound just… perfect. I might join her for just a few days. Could I ask for the same favour you gave the Doctor? Could you book me accommodation for… ah… a few days?" The Captain's voice was distracted.

"Certainly, Sir. Consider it done. Enjoy." With a brilliant smile that bordered on feral, Will rested his elbows on the desk, hands clasped in front of him. His eyes sparkled.

"What was Captain Picard doing back from Ba'ku?" Deanna inquired.

"Just leaving again." Will nodded. "Seems he had enough of Ba'ku and is now headed to Navaal IV."

"Oh." Deanna's smile echoed Will's. "It's about time."

"My thoughts exactly."

"You're going to book him a suite in the same complex, I hope."

"Nope." Deanna stared at him.

"What?"

"No, I know from speaking to Ba'eta when I booked for Beverly that it's practically an act of God to get a room right now. No, I think our Captain would be better served if he had to crash 'with a friend'' when he arrived." It didn't take an empath to know the direction his thoughts were heading.

"William Thomas Riker, you are incorrigible." Deanna giggled with slightly malicious glee.

"No, just hopeful." His eyes softened as he looked at Deanna, counting himself blessed for at least the thousandth time today. He could think of no other two people who deserved to find happiness than those two. And if fate needed an assist, well, who was he to fumble the pass.


	2. Chapter 2

Doctor Beverly Crusher wore neither communicator nor uniform. She sat on a stool at the open sided bar, watching the deep purple sea as the waves lapped ever forward on the lavender sand. The lime green sun was setting, becoming deeper in shade as it slowly dipped to the horizon. It was a deep kelly nearest the water. The lemon sherbet sky was beginning to take on shades of sapphire and periwinkle as sunset approached.

She sipped appreciatively at the light, fruity beverage she held and let out a sigh. If the exhalation felt more like grief than appreciation, she determined not to notice. She would finish the cool, soothing beverage, and walk along the soft beach. It was her third-no, it _couldn't _be her _fourth_-smooth tangy-sweet drink. She could not remember the last time she had allowed herself more than one or two glasses of real alcohol. But there couldn't be much in these. They were delightfully thirst quenching in the humid ocean air.

Across the bar she saw the same trio she had spotted last night, her first on Navaal. A Nausicaan, an Orion and a Ferengi. There was a punch line there somewhere. As it had the previous night, the hair on the back of her neck prickled at the sight of them. Her training was as much a part of her as her red hair. While she was making every effort to put duty and work and all things StarFleet behind her for at least a week, her subconscious kept track of the three, steering well clear.

It had been some time since she had been the recipient of salacious looks; perhaps that was the root of her discomfort. She worked at keeping her body toned, and the recent time on Ba'ku had left her as fit and healthy on the outside as she had felt in years. She wore a breezy, almost translucent simple cover-up over her bathing suit. The one-piece teal suit was neither daring nor matronly, but somewhere in between, with high cut thighs and a cross-wrapped halter-top that bared the majority of her back. The filmy, slightly iridescent blue dress she wore over it was one of the shades the sky was morphing into. Her eyes reflected back the deep violet blue of the sea where it met the heavens, dark with the inner turmoil Ba'ku had triggered.

Another heavy sigh escaped, this time she recognized it. Resolutely she finished her drink, setting the empty glass on the bar. Obviously her purposeful swimming all afternoon had not exhausted her enough. She set out to walk the beach near the tide line,

The first few steps reminded her just how long it had been since she had more than a couple glasses of real wine. Whatever was in the lovely punch she'd been imbibing all afternoon was potent. But it was a pleasant sort of disjointedness she felt; a lightness in her brain, even while her limbs didn't quite seem to be cooperating.

The welcome numbness that an overabundance of exercise failed to achieve.

While the cover-up she wore went down past her knees, there were slits front and back and each side to just below her hips. The gentle ocean breeze blew the silky fabric against her skin. She felt deliciously decadent, and definitely buzzed. She walked down to the waterline, then took a path parallel to the warm waves, which frothed just over her feet and ankles.

The sunset sky began to practically glow with rich jewel tones. Navaal IV was trying it's best to rival Risa as a premier holiday destination. She could see why. Will had advised her though, not to stray too far from the resort areas, saying that the less populated areas were quite tribal in nature, each sect having their own rules or lack thereof. She had seen some of the huge ancient stone structures pushing up out of the jungle canopy as she circled her shuttle waiting for landing clearance. Jean-Luc would love that…

She shook her head at the shaft of sadness. What did she know about what he would love? After all these years, she felt like he was a stranger again.

She stood, turning into the sea breeze, facing the sunset. The sun was a deep glowing emerald ball, elongating as it settled into the horizon. The sky was bright rich gold around it, fading to deep green, then shade after shade of blue, until the darkest blue met the darkest purple sea at the side edges away from the sun. Tears burned at her eyes.

"Damn him." She gritted her teeth against the tears. "Damn her… " She stared, sightlessly at the brilliant sunset before her. Her head ached slightly. Too much sun, too much alcohol, she supposed. Her braid had tightened as it dried after swimming. She reached up and released the band holding it, then scrubbed her fingers against her scalp. Maybe she would cut it. She kept it long because she knew he liked it that way. Maybe it was time for a change…

So lost was she in her unacknowledged grief, she did not notice the Nausicaan and the Orion from the bar had followed her at a distance. The alcohol had dulled her senses, her subconscious did not notice them drawing nearer to where she stood, letting the waves rush nearer her now, a meter or so down the beach.


	3. Chapter 3

Jean-Luc Picard was at the end of his diplomatic rope. While the clerk was polite, he was immoveable in his assertion that there were no reservations, nor any rooms. He checked the PADD he carried for the fourth or fifth time for the message Will had subspaced; He was at the correct resort. Beverly was in suite 212, a corner suite on the second floor. Will had secured him a room. But the clerk was adamant there was no such reservation, and not a spare room to be had. After traveling straight through at Warp 8, easily making up the time difference for the small runabout's upper limit of Warp 2, Picard was tired and out of patience.

"At the least then, could you please message Beverly Crusher in suite 212 for me? "

The clerk tapped a few commands into his computer. "Miss Crusher left for the beach after lunch. I will pass along the message when she returns." The Captain could not hide his look of disappointment. The clerk had observed a deep sadness in the beautiful red-haired guest. He went with the instinct that often inspired him, making this resort the most sought after and recommended on the planet—the planet striving to be known as 'the most accommodating resort planet in the sector.' He vaguely recognized the name of the frustrated man before him. He could not quite place it just yet… he let part of his brain wander to the puzzle while his fingers typed on the computer.

That's it! Captain Jean-Luc Picard! No wonder he hadn't recognized him. The man before him wore a casual off white shirt and loose, cool khaki trousers appropriate for the climate. He was tan and looked tired, not at all like the Federation Flagship Captain… But yes, the face matched that of the one he had seen many times on the Federation News Service… Captain Picard… was the Captain of the famous Enterprise. Will Riker had pulled strings and called in more than one favor to get the suite for Miss Crusher… and Will was the First Officer on the Enterprise…

Breaking all sorts of privacy rules, the clerk nonetheless went with his famous instinct—the instinct that had him backing Will Riker in the poker game last year. "I believe you will find it rewarding to wait for Miss Crusher at the waterfront commissary. " Picard glanced up at the clerk, and hoped he was interpreting the suggestion correctly.

"Thank you," he replied, heartfelt. "Could I… ah… " He glanced around, awkwardly holding his small travel bag and PADD.

"I would be happy to hold that behind the desk for you, Sir." The clerk accommodated, a pleased smile. Yes, he was doing the right thing, he was sure of it now. "Just call for it and we'll bring it up to the suite when you are ready."

The Captain did not even acknowledge that, merely handed the bag over, and thanked the clerk again, quickly heading in the direction of the beach.

He found the bar easily enough, but disappointment washed through him when he did not see her. "Can I help you sir?" The bartender was one of the humanoid's native to Navaal, he casually buffed a glass dry with two hands, while wiping the bar top with a third. His fourth hand placed a small basket of snacks in front of Jean-Luc.

"I'm looking for a lady…" The barkeep grinned, black teeth shining. "No, no, not like that—" the Captain interjected quickly. "Ah, a redhead, human… "

The bartender smiled wider. The polite, gracious redhead had looked lonely; it was nice someone was looking after her. "She went for a walk along the beach." The bartender gestured with his free fourth hand in the direction Beverly had set out.

Picard offered a nod, "Thank you." He dropped a few credits on the bar.

The bartender looked over to the table where the Ferengi had entertained his friends all last evening and again this afternoon. The Ferengi was there alone. The bartender did not like the men, had a bad feeling about them. But, Navaal was supposed to be 'the most accommodating resort in the sector,' so he filled up another glass of Romulan ale and delivered it to the Ferengi.


	4. Chapter 4

Beverly stood watching the last quarter of the sun as it slid below the horizon. The steady rush of gentle waves echoed the rhythm of her repeating thoughts. She had no one to blame but herself if Jean-Luc ended up in the arms of another woman. She would rather face a Borg Cube than act on her feelings for him… and it seemed his patience had finally worn out.

She hadn't expected time to fly so quickly… had truly meant to be brave and push forward with their relationship after KesPrytt, she had just needed some time. But the Universe never seemed to cut them a break. They had made tentative steps forward after Q's last meddling, but it seemed like each subsequent mission was bigger and more encompassing than the previous. The Federation seemed to be falling apart at the seams. They no longer went on exploration or mapping missions, they seemed to go from quadrant to quadrant putting out fires.

The threats became bigger, more frequent, more malign. Just as he was beginning to heal from losing the "D", the return of the Borg and the loss of his family devastated him again.

They had become closer during the inquests following the crash of the "D" and the Borg incursion… During their time on Earth in the sparse moments and rare days off together they could coordinate… but it just had not seemed right to violate the deep need for friendship with anything more. He seemed content with platonic touches. She wanted him whole again, and if that meant putting her own wants aside…

She closed her eyes to the beauty in front of her, wrapped her arms around herself, crossing them to hold opposite elbows. The air escaped her lungs in a slow, tired whoosh. She would not lie to herself, she was still scared. She needed him too much to risk losing him over sex. But it seemed she had lost him anyway. Lost him to a woman who was not afraid to explore passion with him.

The haze of alcohol was lifting slightly. She ought to go back to the resort. It would be well past dark by the time she reached the lighted outdoor commissary. She had strayed further down the beach than she thought, beyond sight of the resort. Her head hurt more, perhaps too much sun in addition to too much alcohol. She opened her eyes at the same moment she sensed the presence next to her—a moment too late.

Her still muzzy mind registered the Nausicaan and the Orion as heavy hands locked on to her. "C'mon, don't fight us, we don't want to hurt you."

Adrenaline sobered her. Her bare foot felt the impact as her kick hit home—the Nausicaan's genitals. He doubled over, dropping to his knees in the wet sand. But the Orion still had his hands pinning her arms. She let herself go limp in his grasp. Surprised, he began to lower her to the ground; she twisted, hooking her leg behind his knee, causing him to tumble over her. She turned to flee, but the Nausicaan recovered enough to grab at her ankle, pulling her down onto the sand, knocking the wind out of her. The Orion pushed a meaty knee into the small of her back while she gasped for air, and pulled her arms high behind her back. With a sinking panic she felt metal manacles restrain her wrists. The rushing in her head drowned out the sound of the ocean. The weight lifted from her back, but she was prone yet, struggling for breath.

She thought she must be losing consciousness when she heard the familiar voice, "I believe the lady said NO!" But he was there, conjured from her oxygen-deprived imagination.

He caught the Orion unaware with a solid elbow to the jaw, sending the big green man to the ground with a spray of sand. In a single movement he turned to the Naussicaan who was approaching him from behind, and knocked the knife away—not quite in time, it sliced his upper arm as it arced away from it's intended path. "Not this time," he growled.

Beverly had pulled herself to her knees, still trying to gulp in air. In the fading light, she saw the Orion pulling himself up. Jean-Luc still circled the Nausicaan. Blood dripped from the slice in his upper arm. The Orion started to approach from Jean-Luc's blind side. Beverly catapulted herself at the back of his knees, taking him back to the ground. He retaliated with a vicious punch to her face—and in an incendiary burst of pain, everything went black.

The sickening crunch of flesh and bone was enough to distract Jean-Luc. Had it been anyone else, he would have maintained his discipline, but he heard her abbreviated whimper and let his attention waver for just a second. He never saw the Ferengi with the phaser. The heavy stun hit him between the shoulder blades and he crumpled to the sand. He held on to the edge of consciousness, though he could not move a single muscle.

He was aware of being hefted onto a boat, and dumped unceremoniously onto a metal deck. His breath was knocked out of him with an "ug," when Beverly's prone form was dumped half-on-top of him, half-next to him. He felt and heard the engines engage, and the watercraft lift to skim above the ocean. The triple moons lit the now dark sky and reflected off the purple ocean, making it look like blood.

Time lost meaning for him as he struggled against the effects of the stun. Muscles clenched in agony; dull, burning pain radiated from his back. He could discern Beverly's light but regular breathing next to him. The craft beneath them slowed, and he made out a larger vessel. They were dragged up a ramp; he felt a sharp pain, then warmth trickling down his arm where he had been cut.

The two of them were shoved none-too-carefully into a dark box of a cell. At least they had left them together, his mind clicked slowly. He could fight the phaser's effect no longer, and succumbed to the darkness…


	5. Chapter 5

'_I am never going to drink again._' The thought was the first coherent one Beverly could identify. She was not sure which ached worse, her arms and shoulders or her head. As she became more aware though, she realized with a sudden jolt of panic her arms were restrained behind her. Her eyes snapped open; she was lying on a metal floor, her head on… Jean-Luc!

The more recent memories of the attack on the beach flooded her. Blood still flowed down his right arm where he had been cut. She had been laying at right angle to him, her head on his thigh. He was unconscious… her heart thudded so loud she was surprised it did not wake him. "Jean-Luc?" Her voice was hoarse, her lips dry. Her jaw felt as if it were displaced. That part was a little murky, she remembered diving for the Orion's legs to bring him down… perhaps it was displaced.

She sat up and looked around. Moonlight seeped in the long, narrow rectangular vents that were at the top of the… space… they were in. It was not so much a cell as maybe a container? Bare except for the two of them. With a barely suppressed groan, she stretched her arms down behind her. It strained her shoulders to the maximum, but she was able to hook her manacled hands under her bottom, then feed them around her legs. She was still restrained by thick metal, but at least her hands were in front of her now.

Ignoring her pounding head, she checked Jean-Luc. His pulse was a little sluggish, but steady and strong. There was a puddle of blood beneath his arm on the metal floor, but not too much. She didn't know how long they had been here though. Taking the sleeve from where it was cut, she ripped it the rest of the way off. The skin around the slice was angry and red, infection setting in already. She wound the sleeve around the deep knife wound. The trick with old-fashioned bandages was to secure them tight enough to stop the bleeding, but not so tight as to cut off circulation—then the limb would be at risk. She did her best.

She lifted her hands to his face, gently caressing his forehead. No temperature she could discern. She carefully checked the rest of him for injury, and found none. Stunned? It seemed the logical conclusion.

But that was the only conclusion she seemed able to draw. She had no idea where they were, or why. Or why he was here. She unconsciously grasped his good left hand between her two, trying not to let panic and despair overwhelm her. He was HERE, with her. She listened to his steady breathing. Wherever here was, she was not alone.

She had no sense of time but there was still plenty of moonlight in the darkness when she felt his fingers tighten in hers.

She released his hand, cursing the restraints on hers as she raised them to soothe against his cheek.

A quiet moan and his eyes were flickering open. "Jean-Luc?" Her voice was a whisper.

"Beverly." His gaze found hers in the dim light. "Ooooh." He started to raise himself on his elbows.

"No… stay still for a minute." She kept her voice low. "I don't know how much blood you've lost." If there was a waver in her voice, she ignored it. She brushed her hand on his forehead again: still dry and not overly warm. She moved her paired hands to his neck, checking his pulse: steady and strong. He took a deep breath. Relenting, she wrapped her hands around his left bicep and assisted him to sit up. He bent his legs, resting his forearms on his knees for a moment.

She checked the hand on his injured arm, "Squeeze my hand," she ordered. He did. His grip was warm and fairly strong; a good sign. Finally she checked the area around the bandage, which was hot to the touch, not a good sign. Between the tropical air and whatever microbe, bacteria, fungus or… whatever… was on the Nausican's knife, the wound was not going to get better without help.

He lifted his head to look at her. Something he saw caused his features to darken with anger. Had it been anyone else, the darkness she saw in him would have caused her to flinch. He raised his left hand to gently touch her jaw. "Beverly… " There was anguish in his voice.

"I'm all right." She murmured, mesmerized by the intensity of his expression. He smoothed his hand back, through her hair. A shiver skittered from her scalp down her spine. Carefully but quickly he pulled her against him, half across his lap.

Her manacled hands came up, palms flattened on his chest in between them. She felt his lips whisper against her temple. For just a moment she melted against him. His bandaged arm came around her, gathering her closer still. His hand warmed the length of her bare back, under the diaphanous cover-up. She felt tears burning her eyes. She breathed in, his scent so familiar. She let her uninjured cheek rest against him, feeling his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin beneath her.

But as it always did, reality intruded. "Why are you here instead of on Ba'ku?" she asked.

"I came to find you." His simple words made something deep in her belly clench and paradoxically flutter. "But a better question is why are we here, and where is here?"

Reluctantly she pulled away from his embrace, but settled herself to lean against his pulled up knees. "I had a bad feeling about those three from the first I saw them." He barely saw her shake her head slowly in the dark.

"Three? I only remember an Orion and a Nausicaan with a knife?"

"They were with a Ferengi," she said flatly. "Last night in the bar they were watching me. Then this afternoon they seemed to always be there."

"Do they know who you are?" Jean-Luc wondered if this were a deliberate kidnapping, or just part of the lucrative tourist-kidnap trade, which had sprung up in so many resort destinations on the fringes of Federation control.

"A Doctor?" she asked in confusion, shaking her head.

He grinned at her self-deprecating lack of comprehension. "Doctor Beverly Crusher." He pushed her hair behind her ear, seemingly unable to stop touching her.

She shook her head. "I don't think so. Will didn't use my title or rank for the reservations, just his… " She broke off, rolled ideas around. "Maybe the association was made to the Enterprise though." Her voice was quiet, a wealth of meaning in the last. The Enterprise had made enemies; far more of them recently than they ever had in the past.

"Well, their Ferengi friend obviously joined them, with a phaser. I was stunned after the Orion knocked you out." His fingertips again brushed the bruised side of her face, like a benediction. "I never saw him, but the other two brought us to this vessel."

"So, at least three of them," she spoke softly in the darkness. "Maybe more?" She tried not to let her anxiety show.

Jean-Luc pulled the communicator out of his pants pocket. He expected the silence that greeted his attempt at transmitting. But he turned it over and twisted the small screw on the back, which would send out an emergency beacon. He doubted it would transmit out of the metal box, so then, they needed to get out of it.

His warm fingers brushed her shoulder as he tucked the communicator under the top of her suit where it met the halter strap and secured it. He doubted anyone would think to search her under the revealing suit, while they might search his pockets once they realized they had not.

He used her shoulder to steady himself and rise to his feet. The box they were in was approximately two meters by two meters square, He could easily reach his fingers to the narrow rectangular vents near the top of it, with a grunt, he pulled himself up but the vents were too near the ceiling, he couldn't get the height he needed to see out them.

"Jean-Luc!" Beverly hissed, watching his arm flex under the bandage. She pushed herself up to her feet. "You'll set that to bleeding again."

"It's not bad." He brushed off her concern, pacing off the walls and corners, testing the seams and joins.

"It's infected already. Aggravating it is not going to help," she snapped crossly.

"Oh," he mouthed silently, looking in her direction. The moons were setting, the light dimming quickly. Soon it would be pitch black in their little cell until daylight. He felt along the walls until he came to what seemed to be the access; just a seam outlining a rectangular opening, not a breath of draft through it, no hinges, no handle. It was sealed tight.

He paced the once more. "The only way out is when they come in." His voice was grim in the darkness. "We'll have to surprise them and fight."

He could see her chin dip and rise sharply in the darkness as she nodded, "Then that's what we'll do."


	6. Chapter 6

In the end it started out ridiculously easy. That should have been an omen. The Captain made a mental note to thank Mr. Worf the next time he saw him. The training the Klingon had insisted upon for all Away Team staff was invaluable.

The murky light of dawn was filtering through the vents when the engines of the vessel stopped. The Doctor and the Captain were ready.

When the Orion opened the door to the container, the only thing he saw was the translucent silky cover-up the Doctor had been wearing. Startled by the sight of it crumpled on the deck, with no bodies within the container, he stepped through the opening. When he bent to examine the material, the Doctor jumped on his back from her position beside the door. She quickly lowered her bound arms over his head and started to pull the unrelenting metal bar between the cuffs against his trachea.

The Orion scrabbled for her arms, but the Captain stepped away from his post on the opposite side of the door, and with a solid left hook, rendered the green giant unconscious.

Beverly let out a grunt as she toppled to the floor on top of the Orion. Jean-Luc gently helped her disentangle herself from the unconscious bulk. After helping her to her feet, he tenderly traced the bruises encircling her wrists beneath the manacles. Neither spoke. She found herself inexplicably once again near tears.

With a nod, the Captain tore his gaze from her hands, and meeting her gaze, smiled. Without sound they exited the box onto the dawn lit deck. Dark purple ocean surrounded them, but there was land on the horizon. He closed and latched the door to the container.

He saw Beverly shiver. He rubbed a hand up and down her bare back trying to warm her. Her bathing suit was little protection from cold or sun. He hoped help was as near as that horizon. In the brightening light, her cheek and jaw were vividly bruised. He wished the Orion had not been quite so easy to render unconscious.

The ship appeared to be a simple sea craft: Engine below, several shipping containers on the deck, and a cabin toward the bow where navigation ostensibly was carried out. The skimmer which had brought them from the beach to the boat was secured aft. Jean-Luc gestured downward. They would disable the craft first, then attempt to get away in the skiff. It would not entail as much satisfaction as incapacitating the rest of the crew, but provided they could get out of phaser range, it was the safest plan.

It worked a charm. Pulling then disposing of a few wires in the engine compartment went unnoticed since the vessel was already sitting without engines running. The skiff was a simple, intuitive design; they were lowered over the side and away before the muffled shouts reached them.

By the time phaser fire was aimed at them, Jean-Luc had figured out the controls enough to engage in a zigzag path. Between the erratic course and the rise and fall of the waves, none of the phaser shots came near. Soon they were skimming above the waves toward the land on the horizon.

But nothing ever went quite that easily for the crew of the Enterprise.

The rising sun glinting brightly off the top of the water concealed the reefs below. No doubt the reef was why the bigger ship was waiting out to sea rather than trying to put in to shore here. The tide was pulling out, and they were not hovering quite high enough over the water. The cushion of air was not enough when a retreating wave crashed up, and the turbulence pocket pulled them down onto the water… onto the reef.

With an explosive BANG the metal of the skiff cracked apart. Both occupants were thrown in opposite directions, into the sea. The water was warm, but the strong undertow dragged them toward the rocks.

"Beverly!" Jean-Luc's shout reverberated across the water. With her hands restrained in the heavy manacles, she could do little more than tread water… He saw her red hair surfacing, saw her break the water and gasp for air; saw her being pulled back toward the reef.

"Kick! Kick toward me…" he ordered. Without conscious thought, she obeyed, trying to both keep her head above the waves and kick away from the undertow. He set out at a strong crawl toward her. It took him several minutes to reach her.

By now she was already becoming exhausted from trying to fight the current with just her legs, alternating trying to stay afloat and to move herself. She just needed to rest for a minute. She could just lie on her back for a minute…

His strong arm wrapped around her, above her waist, just below her breasts; pulling her away from the sharp coral just as another outgoing wave would have battered her against it. She gasped at the contact, then realized what was happening. She added her own kicking to help propel them away from the reef and toward the beach. He swam on his side, tucking her back securely against his front. Together they struggled against the tide until their feet touched bottom. With a hiss, she pulled her feet back up; this was not the serene silky lavender sand of the resort beaches, this was rock and coral, and she was barefoot.

"Put your arms around me," Jean-Luc told her. She looped her cuffed hands around his neck, resting her forearms on his shoulders. He swept her into his arms, carrying her onto the rocky shore. She let her head fall forward onto his shoulder for a moment.

He paused, and she lifted her head, thinking he was to put her down. But he gazed out at the water, seeing the disabled vessel they had escaped on the horizon. "I think we'd better get out of sight," he murmured near her ear. Tightening his hold on her, he strode into the foliage.

Angling up and away from the shore, toward the sunrise, he shortly came to what he was looking for, a clear running stream. Neither of them had food or water in at least twelve hours if he was reckoning correctly. Finding a mossy spot, he gently lowered Beverly to her feet.

Unable to resist, he ran his hands down the expanse of her exposed back. She hesitated for a moment, resting her forehead against his, before lifting her hands over his head. He steadied her arms when she wobbled.

"What do you think?" He nodded toward the stream.

"I think our chances are better with Montezuma's Revenge than with dehydration." They had both swallowed salty seawater that would only exacerbate their already dehydrated states. The fact that neither of them had needed to heed the call of nature since they had been captured was already a bad sign.

They both knelt and carefully cupped hands in the water. "I wish I had a tricorder," Beverly observed wistfully, but then took the water to her lips for a taste. It was sweet and clean on her tongue. She only hoped Navaal did not harbor microscopic water creatures the way many Class M's did. At this point the fates owed them some small measure of luck, didn't they?

"Drink more than you want," she instructed the Captain in between drinks. He went on to sluice some over his scalp, knowing the seawater would leave him itchy. His shirt and her suit were both already almost dry.

Once again, he used her shoulder to steady himself as he rose. She found the gesture surprisingly intimate. He reached for her cuffed hands and helped her up.

"What now?" She meant her voice to be practical, instead it sounded anxious to her own ears.

"I think the smartest course would be to find some high, defensible ground, and wait for someone to answer our beacon." He gazed through the foliage at the ship still unmoving on the horizon. So far he saw no signs of pursuit, he worried that could change. "What do you think?"

She nodded her assent. "Lead on MacDuff."

He smiled at her reference.


	7. Chapter 7

He tried to pick a path free of sharp rocks and sticks, but the going was still slow in deference to her bare feet. They followed the stream uphill somewhat for about an hour. Then Beverly stopped short, looking around her intently.

Jean-Luc stopped and waited for her to explain.

"The temples… I had to maintain a holding pattern for quite some time while waiting for landing clearance. I saw the ancient stone temples the Navaal native peoples had built. It just dawned on me, they tended to be on high ground, near the coast, but also you could see a stream coming down the hill from each of them."

"You're right," he agreed. I barely spared them a glance on my approach, but I did see a couple. It would be defensible, with good visibility." He began looking around them, studying the terrain. "Shelter and water too. Which way do you think?"

She grinned, remembering a time when he had blindly chosen a direction, completely unsure of himself, but pretending at confidence…

"Uphill, stay with the stream, as good as any, I suppose."

"Lead on, MacDuff," he teased her back.

Just when she thought she was going to have to cry uncle for her sore feet, the stone seemed to rise right out of the jungle as if conjured. Ten feet further back they saw nothing, but there it was now, a huge monolith.

Roughly carved stones, uniformly sized a meter square were stacked into a pyramid. Rather than smooth, like the ancient Earth pyramids, the blocks also served as steps up to the next level, winding around the four-sided structure.

Wind and sand and sun had roughened the stones. Beverly did not want to admit she was beyond capacity to climb the structure, but Jean-Luc saw her hesitation. "Come on." He gestured for her to loop her arms around him again. When she was reluctant, he said, "I can make it an order, Doctor." But his voice was soft with entreaty.

"You can't carry me all the way up this thing," she protested. "Your arm… "

"I just want to get us high enough to see if that ship sends anyone for us. Then we settle back and wait for help to arrive." He tucked wayward hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing feather light across her puffy jaw and cheek.

She relented and lifted her restrained hands over his head once again. This time her heart beat with an entirely different sort of anxiety when he effortlessly swept her up. She felt every inch of his nearness. She ducked her head, hoping he would not see the flush rising from her chest to her face.

True to his word, they wrapped around the pyramid twice before he settled her back on her feet on the shaded side. They were just above the treetops, at a ninety-degree angle to the water. They could easily see the stranded ship, drifting slowly on the horizon, but it would be difficult to spot them in the shade. The Captain's clothes would blend nicely with the white-tan rock. Her own emerald bathing suit and red hair would stick out to even the most primitive telescope, so they sat with her tucked a bit behind his shoulder, further into the darkness of shadow.

The sun warmed the stone. She found her cheek resting against his shoulder without knowing how it got there. "I thought you'd love this…" she murmured drowsily.

He knew she meant the ancient edifice. But when he looked down at her face, he smiled at the double meaning. Her hair had dried in soft waves of disarray. Red lashes touched her cheek as her eyes drifted shut. Freckles stood out against her sun-kissed pink skin. The bruising on her face was an angry purple, green and brown mass. His hands itched with the need to avenge that injury.

Bruises also ringed her wrists, still entrapped by the harsh metal restraints. She had rested her hands around his arm, in the nook of his elbow.

And when he looked at those long, deft fingers, holding on to him, he felt the peace he had fruitlessly gone to the Briar Patch to seek. He had not wanted Anij, not truly. At first the peace and respite she promised was enticing, but it was not the peace he truly sought.

He needed Beverly. He needed her to challenge him, to argue with him, to believe in him. He needed her wit and wisdom and unwavering faith in him. Even when he had ordered his crew to the untenable position of certain suicide against the Borg… she had his back. She had followed the order.

It had ultimately been her resolute loyalty that had broken through to him. She followed his order, and set the standard for the rest of the crew… Lily had to point it out, but they were all willing to die for him. He had been humbled and awed.

So much had happened. There never seemed to be time for them. He knew she was always there if he needed advice, or just companionship; but each successive mission seemed to suck the life out of them, to conspire to keep them apart.

When he finally had acknowledged he needed more than the bleak, solitary existence StarFleet had reduced him to, he had sought solace in the wrong place.

Thankfully, he had been pushed in the right direction. He only hoped he had not pushed her too far away.

Her eyes fluttered open when he settled back against the stone behind him. "We OK?" she asked.

"I think so," he replied. His eyes lowered to her lips, he found himself leaning toward her. She did not move away. Ever so lightly he touched his mouth to hers. Her fingers tightened on his arm. Her lashes drifted down again. When he pulled back slightly, she followed him. The second contact was still soft, but seeking… she opened her lips, and he acknowledged the invitation.

She startled when a buzzing tingle erupted just beneath her chin. With a chuckle, Jean-Luc pulled back, then reached for the communicator tucked beneath the strap of her suit. "We've been found then… " His eyes met hers, searching for recrimination. He found none.

"Perhaps we have."


	8. Chapter 8

A runabout arrived shortly thereafter, and the two were whisked with surprising efficiency to the Law Enforcement facility. The moment the Captain's identity was verified, the still-disabled ship had been impounded and its crew detained for questioning.

Beverly clutched a shiny silver survival blanket around her. They could have at least let her back to her room to dress… They sat on a cool stone bench in a clean, modern building, waiting for their statements to be taken. A medic checked them both over, healing Jean-Luc's wound, and handing her an old-fashioned ice pack for her jaw. When she shivered from the cold and exhaustion, the Captain wrapped an arm around her and brought her close to his side.

They were separated to give statements, but it was brief. They were released and told they would be contacted at the resort for follow up.

The hotel clerk did a double take when he looked up and saw his bruised and battered guests. "Oh, no! Captain Picard… Doctor Crusher!" He was horrified. He had done his research after sending the Captain off after the redhead. The two were mentioned equally in Federation News, from one end of the galaxy to the other.

"We're fine, thank you," Beverly blushed with embarrassment at the glances they were receiving from other guests. Jean-Luc had not let go of her since they were reunited at the precinct. "Could I just have my key?"

The clerk handed her the key-card to her room, his eyes widening discernibly at the bruises wringing her wrist. "I'll have your bag sent right up, Sir. Ma'am. Can I get you anything else? A meal perhaps?"

"Yes, that would be a marvelous idea," the Captain agreed. "Whatever the specialty is tonight." With that he whisked the Doctor to the lift. When the doors closed, she leaned against him for a moment, weary beyond belief.

"Your bag is being sent to my room?" Her eyebrow rose.

"Ah, it seems Will was unable to pull off two favors in a row… " He had the grace to look embarrassed. "I can sleep on the yacht, of course."

"Don't be ridiculous Jean-Luc," she said softly. It's a suite. There is plenty of room. The lift arrived and they went to the door. There was indeed plenty of room.

"You shower first," she ordered, "Then I want to take a look at that arm myself."

He obeyed her orders, but when he was done with a brief shower, he started a bath for her in the huge tub. He added the fragrant bubbles the resort provided. Slipping on the complimentary robe, he padded into the living area of the suite. "Your bath awaits, my lady." His voice was warm, as were his eyes.

He heard her delighted "Oh!" when she went into the bathroom; and her subsequent groan as she slid into the warm water. His bag had arrived. He took it and retreated into the bedroom, dressing in loose, dark slacks and a clean collarless white shirt. He left his feet bare, making him wonder how Beverly's feet were.

A soft chime at the door and dinner arrived. A bottle of wine accompanied plates of fruits, cheeses and meats. A separate cart held what looked to be sumptuous desserts. Jean-Luc poured the wine then knocked lightly on the bathroom door.

"Are you decent?" he asked.

"Come in," Beverly offered shyly.

She was beneath the bubbles when he handed her the glass of wine. Bubbles drifted down her arm when she raised it to accept the glass from him. She saw the darkness cross his features at the bruises circling her wrist. She sipped the wine. It was light, crisp and fruity, and very slightly sweet.

"Dinner…" He had to clear his throat before continuing. "Dinner is here when you are done."

She sunk back down in the decadent tub, sipping at the wine. He had not said why he had left Ba'ku. Why he had come to Navaal. Hope bubbled inside her. She finished up, washing all the salt out of her hair, and conditioning it. She dressed in dark blue silk pajamas with a matching robe. Hardly romantic, she scoffed inwardly. But it was all she had.

The Captain had pulled the meal cart over in front of the couch, which faced the sun, getting ready to set once again. Had it been just a day since she stood alone on the beach?

She gratefully lowered herself to the soft cushions, and accepted the new glass of wine he poured for her. She loaded a plate with fruit and cheese and bits of meat from the platter, suddenly discovering she was ravenous. They ate in comfortable silence, watching the brilliant show of sunset.

"The constabulary called," Jean-Luc said, when he had assuaged his own hunger somewhat. "It seems we've broken up a lucrative kidnapping ring."

"Oh?" Beverly remembered the discomfort of the three watching her from the night of her arrival.

"Yes, those three have been targeting single females. Most of them have been a deliberate type, to fill an 'order.'" Beverly shuddered delicately. His voice lowered to almost a growl. "It seems a Cardassian Gul had put in a 'request' for a redheaded human."

Her appetite abruptly departed. She never would have been able to escape them had she been alone. Her self-defense skills were good, but it took the teamwork of the two of them to get off that ship. She felt Jean-Luc's hand massaging the back of her neck. She put her plate down on the serving cart, he followed suit. When she leaned back into the couch, she found herself gently drawn to his side. His hand returned to the back of her neck, gently squeezing the tense muscles, up to the base of her scalp.

"I should not have left you Beverly." His voice was so soft, she thought she might have imagined it. She looked at him.

"I was wrong to go back to Ba'ku." His green eyes were cloudy and dark with pain.

"But… Anij… " Beverly shook her head helplessly. She could not find the words.

"Anij is a lovely person, but she is not what I want." He paused, his fingers doing sinful things to her scalp, under her fall of damp hair. "I am sorry it took going to her to figure that out."

Beverly stared at him, her exhausted mind trying to decipher if he meant what she wanted him to mean. His next words removed all doubt. "Are you still afraid, Beverly?"

Her heart stopped in her chest, turned over once, and began thudding against her ribcage. "No." She meant the word to be confident and sure, it came out like a plea.

"Last chance," he said, the hand on the back of her head drawing her to him gently, but relentlessly. "Should we be afraid?"

His voice was a warm whisper against her lips. Her own answer was lost, her breath mingling with his. "No." Their lips met.

And a lifetime of longing and denial finally, finally radiated in a passion brighter than the jeweled sunset beyond the balcony.


End file.
